PER carità, Mostrami amore: Mi punge il cuore, Ma non si sa Dove è amore.

Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman? Where’s Hipparchia, and where is… Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man,

Silesian shepherd, blesed be The sequel of that history That I have read with heart elate… Entwining it with my own fate; So dear to me the visions seem

So then, the name which travels si… With English life from childhood—… Means this. The sun is setting. “… Till the sunset, and ended,” says… It lacked the “chord” by stage—use…

What dawn—pulse at the heart of he… Incarnate flower of culminating da… What marshalled marvels on the ski… Or song full—quired, sweet June’s… What glory of change by Nature’s…

The gloom that breathes upon me wi… Is like the drops which strike the… Who knows not, darkling, if they b… Fresh storm, or be old rain the co… Ah! bodes this hour some harvest o…

WITH Shakspeare’s manhood at a b… Through Hamlet’s doubt to Shakspe… And kin to Milton through his Sat… At Death’s sole door he stooped,… And to the dear new bower of Engl…

O thou who at Love’s hour ecstati… Unto my heart dost evermore presen… Clothed with his fire, thy heart h… Whom I have neared and felt thy b… The inmost incense of his sanctuar…

Mother of the Fair Delight, Thou handmaid perfect in God’s si… Now sitting fourth beside the Thr… Thyself a woman—Trinity,— Being a daughter born to God,

MAGGIOR dolore è ben la Ricord… O nell’ amaro inferno amena stanza…

SHE bowed her face among them all… By one they rose and went. A litt… They showed—a very little. More f… She seemed because of that: she mi… Proud else in her turn, and have s…

“THE silver cord is loosed,” he s… “The golden bowl is broken; A few more prayers having been pra… A few more love—words spoken, I shall turn my face unto the wall…

There came an image in Life’s ret… That had Love’s wings and bore hi… Fair was the web, and nobly wrough… O soul—sequestered face, thy form… Bewildering sounds, such as Sprin…

‘There is a budding morrow in midn… So sang our Keats, our English ni… And here, as lamps across the brid… In London’s smokeless resurrectio… Dark breaks to dawn. But o’er the…

O RUFF—EMBASTIONED vast El… Bush to these bushel—bellied casks… Home—growth, 'tis true, but rank a… What would we with such skittle—pl… Say, must we watch these brawlers’…